


085 - Big, Fluffy, Curly Hair

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Van admiring his girlfriends very big and curly hair, can it be fluffy too.”





	085 - Big, Fluffy, Curly Hair

You regretted brushing your hair straight away. The bathroom light shined through the fluff, and you looked like you had a halo of frizz. You stood looking at it, considering your options. Product would just weigh your hair down too much and make it greasy. You couldn't be bothered trying to tame it into buns. You could try washing it, but that was both time consuming and not always effective. You would just have to suck it up.

You walked out into the living room, where Van was sitting on the couch. He had his feet up on the coffee table, and he was almost lying completely horizontally. You dropped down next to him. He took your hand and moved it to his mouth. His eyes didn't leave the television screen as he put one of your fingers between his teeth and held it there. He wasn't biting down, or doing anything at all really. Your hand hung from his mouth and he continued to play on his phone and watch the news with vague interest.

"Um. What's this about then?" you asked, shaking your hand. He shrugged, still not looking over at you. "Van?"

"What?" he replied, pronunciation inaccurate due to the obstruction.

"Can I have my hand back?"

His head twisted to face you and he opened his mouth. Your hand was released and you took it back. Teeth marks were in your skin, but it didn't hurt. You looked at him waiting for explanation, but you should have known it was just his weird playfulness. He kept looking at you, and you tried to escape the intense gaze by shifting on the spot, and burrowing down to be in the same lying position as him. You faced the television and waited for him to stop staring at you. Ten seconds, and he kissed your cheek and went back to his phone.

His leg started to bounce a few minutes later, and you could tell he was getting restless. Van got bored easy, and you'd been hanging out inside all day. It was not a surprised when he stood up and declared he was going for a walk. "Come on," he said as he put his jacket on.

"Do I have to?"

He didn’t reply, just held out your jacket and waited.

Outside, the sky was grey and you knew it was just going to fucking pour before you got home. You got to the park and sat in one of the spinning teacups. Van pushed you around until you threatened to puke all over him. You almost fell getting out, but he caught you laughing. He stood with one leg on each side of you as you laid on the grass trying to lose the dizzy feeling. That's when you felt the first drop of rain. It hit you right on your forehead.

"Fuck! No!" you yelled. You stood, pushing Van to the side, and ran for cover. Under a small shelter that housed a barbeque set up, you waited for Van. He strolled casually through the park as the rain started. When he got to you, he reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette. He looked at you confused.

"You know we're going to have to walk through it to get home,"

"Can we get an uber?"

"It's a few blocks, Y/N. You'll survive," he said and his tone was thick with judgement.

"My hair won't."

You waited until Van had finished the smoke, then let him take you by the hand. You tried to run ahead but he kept grabbing you by the waist and slowing you down. He said if you ran you'd slip in the wet and get hurt. It took fifteen minutes to walk home, and by the time you were in the warmth of your apartment your hair was a mess of knots and frizz. You were naïve to think how it was before was the worst it could get. You always forgot about the fucking rain.

You changed into track pants and one of Van's t-shirts. He just took his jeans off and switched shirts. You would have mocked him for wearing a formal shirt around casually, but he only did a few of the buttons up and somehow he made it look comfortable and cozy. Under a pile of blankets with hot tea in hand, you could feel him staring at you again.

"Fuck, Van. What? Why have you been staring at me like that all day?" You looked over at him. He sipped his tea and narrowed his eyes at you. You wanted to hit him, but settled for throwing a pillow.

"I think I like you best like this," he finally said.

"Like what? What do you mean?"

He put his cup on the table and moved closer. He traced a line down your nose, then held your head in his hands; your thick hair between your cheeks and his palms. "I like when you haven't done anythin' to your hair. It's just all curly and huge and everywhere. It's like… Beyonce's sister. You know? But I like you more,"

"Her name is Solange and she's an artist in her own right,"

Van laughed. "Yeah. I know. But you know what I mean? Like, I used to think Bob's hair was fucking magic but yours… Just love it. Love you,"

"You've just been looking at my hair all day? I'm literally having the worst hair day of my life, Van,"

"Well I like it and I'm the one that's got to look at ya every day, so lucky that, innit?"

He kissed you, then settled back under the blankets. You couldn't believe him. He always did things like this. You'd bought a dress once that you were unsure of. You spent hours agonising over it, and Van came home and saw you and said it was the best outfit he'd ever seen you in. He'd just somehow pick up on insecurities and brush them aside with an offhanded comment. Your hair wasn't an insecurity. You loved it. The year you went as Hermione for Halloween it came in handy, and you also appreciated the way the curls simply just existed, almost defying gravity. You loved that Van loved them, too. Like all the little parts of you, they were something that he noticed with crazy attention to detail and worshiped as part of the sum of you.

"Can I curl your hair?" you asked him only a fraction of a section after the thought popped into your head. His head rolled lazily to face you. "I think Phoebe left her curler here the other week. Your hair is long enough. Can I?" An amused smile spread across Van's face. You were up and dashing to the bathroom to plug in the appliance. You were already considering funny curly hair puns or something about all matching members of Catfish for the Instagram caption. You called him in and he stood in the doorway, ready and willing. You loved him so much. Probably as much as he loved your hair.


End file.
